


This is a Robbery

by SilverSnap420, TheGreatTigerGoddess



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fellswap (Undertale), Alternate Universe - Horrortale (Undertale), Alternate Universe - Mafiafell (Undertale), Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Alternate Universe - Swapfell (Undertale), Alternate Universe - Underfell (Undertale), Alternate Universe - Underswap (Undertale), Bara Papyrus (Undertale), Bara Sans (Undertale), Bara W. D. Gaster, Big Brother W. D. Gaster, Bigotry & Prejudice, Blood and Gore, Blood and Injury, Corruption, Discrimination, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/F, F/M, Fellswap Papyrus (Undertale) - Freeform, Fellswap Sans (Undertale) - Freeform, Fellswap W. D. Gaster - Freeform, Horrortale Papyrus (Undertale), Horrortale Sans (Undertale), Horrortale W. D. Gaster, Kinda?, Mostly the Underfell Gaster and the Fellswap Trio working together, Multi, Porn With Plot, Robbery, Sans (Undertale) Remembers Resets, Scientist W. D. Gaster, Segregation, Smut, Swapfell Papyrus (Undertale), Swapfell Sans (Undertale), Swapfell W.D. Gaster, Underfell Papyrus (Undertale), Underfell Sans (Undertale), Underfell W. D. Gaster, Underswap Papyrus (Undertale), Underswap Sans (Undertale), Underswap W. D. Gaster, Violence, again this will be explained, and fertility, bad humans, everything is corrupt and everyone is suffering in some ways, have to read to find out hehehe, in an established relationship with Frisk at the beginning, more so like soul compatibility, question is will they stay together, reader has a backstory, reader is technically a criminal but doesn't want to be, reference to slavery, that is a guarantee, there will be angst, will provide reasons for this in later chapters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-13
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-17 01:41:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29959044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilverSnap420/pseuds/SilverSnap420, https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheGreatTigerGoddess/pseuds/TheGreatTigerGoddess
Summary: Amongst monster-human inequality, prejudice and discrimination, a skeleton monster goes to the bank for much needed money to pay for groceries. It was a shame, really, that he'd never be able to withdraw the money he and his brothers so very much needed.When corruption and cruelty is behind every corner, and behind each alley lays a plot for power by morally ambiguous and downright immoral individuals, can Sans find the culprits of the robbery that had caused so much trouble and wreak revenge?At the end of it all, will he even want to?
Relationships: Frisk (Undertale)/Reader, Papyrus (Undertale)/Reader, Sans (Undertale)/Reader, W. D. Gaster/Reader
Comments: 4
Kudos: 10





	This is a Robbery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amongst monster-human inequality, prejudice and discrimination, a skeleton monster goes to the bank for much needed money to pay for groceries. It was a shame, really, that he'd never be able to withdraw the money he and his brothers so very much needed.
> 
> When corruption and cruelty is behind every corner, and behind each alley lays a plot for power by morally ambiguous and downright immoral individuals, can Sans find the culprits of the robbery that had caused so much trouble and wreak revenge? 
> 
> At the end of it all, will he even want to?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heya peeps!
> 
> I know that its been awhile since I myself have updated some of my works, and I know I'm bloody terrible about that, but I will get to them eventually!
> 
> TheGreatTigerGoddes and I, however, have begun working together for this fic (and another is also in the works!) and hope that you all will enjoy this!
> 
> TG: Hahaha!! Thats right!! We have decided to come together and make some amazing works for ya ding dongs to enjoy! So keep your peepers open and be on the look out for new chapters and posts that will be coming around the horizon within the next few weeks!

Five years. Five years of sunshine, minus the rainbows. Freedom came at a cost of being shackled by human obligation on not so human individuals, of which had been going through greater injustices than they had when confined Underground. For the monsters, the days kept getting longer, more arduous, and mundane. The coveted sunshine that they had been exposed to for five years felt more like a burden than the initially perceived welcoming embrace of a long-lost parental figure. For Sans specifically, his nihilism only exacerbated the problem, and even his optimistic brother’s hope had dwindled like the flickering of a near-extinguished flame amidst a turbulent tempest. Even as the morning sunlight shone through the tall, thick glass of the bank he queued in, it did not evade Sans the evident prejudice and segregation of the Human side, and the Monster side. The large, bold black letters above the counters of the bank workers labelling ‘MONSTER’ and ‘HUMAN’ felt like a final nail in a coffin; a promised seal that things would never get any better.

Not that Sans the skeleton monster chose to dwell upon such pessimistic thoughts. It was simply a fact to him that there would never be change. Monsters were to be kept at their side, and humans their own, lest the humans become ‘tainted’ and require a thorough religious cleansing that Sans never bothered to remember the name of but suspected that it began with a ‘B’ and ended in an ‘S-M’ of some sort. Ah, didn’t the humans call it a ‘baptism’? Again, not like Sans cared all that much (or was willing to acknowledge whether he did in fact care). Sans was there, fifth in line for a long queue to withdraw his monthly funds that he and his brothers were ‘graciously’ given by the government, after taking their gold and claiming that they needed to introduce such a wealthy commodity into the economy at a slow rate as to ensure that there wasn’t any unforeseen ramifications, such as gold no longer being seen as a wealthy commodity, which would have affected multiple companies and livelihoods. At least, that was what the government claimed, not that Sans cared. So long as he and his brothers were able to have enough funds to pay for food, he didn’t care nor would he take the time and effort required to care. Sans couldn’t care less.

Unsavory whispers were common amongst the human folk who queued to Sans left on the opposite side of the room, the human workers being generally more pleasant to their human counterparts than monsters. Although, that was a given. Such whispers, Sans noted, were about him. It was common knowledge that humans took a particular disliking to skeleton monsters, even if they were the minority even amongst the monster population given how there were only male skeleton monsters left. It was rather like the distaste that humans claiming to have ‘aerophobia’ had towards Tsunderplanes, but it seemed that all humans had a vendetta against skeleton monsters, as was evident by the hostile glares and disgusted scowls sent his way as the humans continued to whisper amongst themselves in their assigned queue. Not that Sans cared, of course.

“Psst, hey! Sans!” called a timid voice behind him, making the skeleton monster turn his head to peer over his shoulder and behind him at the Whimsun.

“Oh, hey. How you are doin’ Reggie?” greeted Sans, easy-going grin becoming slightly more genuine at the fellow monster.

“It’s Reginald.” corrected the Whimsun meekly, a shy smile on his sickly green face. “And I’m fine, just… just coming for the Allowance.”

“Same.” Grinned Sans. It seemed that was enough conversation for the nervous wreck that was Reginald, having spent up all his confidence striking up conversation in the first place. After all, even if Sans was a pleasant monster, the fact that he was a Boss Monster intimidated many. Sans was alerted when the Migosp in front of him stepped forward, making Sans fourth in line. The skeleton caught himself wondering about his brother, and if he had any luck in securing a job yet, and whilst part of Sans hoped that he was like he was for the other thirty-four attempts, the other part of him guiltily thought that Papyrus would never get a job. Not that he was incapable, far from it. It was just that no one seemed to want to employ him given that he was a monster- a skeleton monster, at that. Also, there were just so few vacancies amongst monster businesses (not that there were many of them anyway), as the owners could only hire so many monsters so that they could still make a profit. In fact, his friend, Grillby, a fire elemental who had a talent for cooking good food and mixing good drinks, was struggling with just having Sans and two other monsters employed (one of which being his daughter, given how she needed the work experience).

So suddenly that it almost gave the skeleton whiplash, he was overwhelmed by an all-encompassing feeling of dread. He could only liken the feeling to when he hadn’t seen his older brother emerge from the DIY lab they had in their basement for a long while, and whilst that feeling was always unfounded given how Wingdings always made time to join his younger brothers for dinner, Sans couldn’t help but feel a sense of certainty with this feeling. Even with his diminished magic usage given how a law was enforced so that every monster had to wear a device that filtered enough magic that they could only use the amount needed to consume food and breath, Sans had always had a ‘sixth-sense’: a proclivity for knowing if something bad or life-changing was going to happen. He sensed it from the ex-Ambassador Frisk when they came Underground and finally freed them (and by extension all the other Undergrounds from the Mt. Ebott mountain range), and he had been right then. He was right when he hit a poisoned drink out of Papyrus’ hand that one time that they decided to give humans a chance and went to what they called a ‘Sorority Extravaganza’, and he also felt it when, before all of that, he caught his brother mid-fall when Wingdings slipped and almost fell skull-first into the CORE.

What was about to happen?

As if to add to his suspicions, the suit-clad lion monster who had finished collecting their Allowance and subsequently made Sans fourth in line seemed to smile in such a way that screamed ‘I know something you don’t know’, and when they both made eye-contact, it only made his smile sharpen and grow even more smug. The lion monster winked, strolling out of the building in the Monster designated exit. Such a strange interaction confused Sans, and not only that, but the way that the lion monster seemed to gaze into the ex-Judges’ soul unsettled the skeleton greatly. Sans’ world seemed to stop spinning briefly when he heard the tell-tale signs of thumping boots on foot trodden carpet. The horror-esque sound was amplified when the once buzzing noise of idle conversation that the bank was filled with was silenced. Multiple heads turned, and from the corner of his eye he could see the humans of the queue and the human bank workers pale and break out into cold sweats, mouths agape and eyes wide. Sans chanced turning around to see what had made everyone, monster and human, unite it one emotion that he was all too familiar with: fear.

“You all know the drill.” said one of the culprits of the fearful response, their voice obviously muffled and obscured by the black ski-mask they were wearing. “Hand us all of your goods and money and shit, and you won’t get shot in the kneecaps. Resist, and you will get shot in the knee-caps, or any other sensitive areas including any orifice of our choosing.” They demanded in a bored tone, which contrasted with the threat that they practically promised with ease. To emphasize their point, they cocked their shotgun, the shell hitting the ground being the only sound amidst the shared tense silence.

“What do you think you’re doing?!” shouted one of the humans, a male with a scraggly beard and unkempt hair. Enraged, he continued his tirade, “Do you know who I am?!”

“Well, would you look at that.” purred another of the robbers (there appeared to be four in total, all of which wearing the same type of mask and same dark clothes, whilst their guns of choice seemed stylized to the individual ranging from a shotgun to one of those Sans recognized from old gangster films). Sans’ sockets widened and his eyelights dimmed in realization that they were a monster, given the swishing tail behind them and the fluffy ears atop their head. The more Sans observed, he realized that all excluding one who had remained silent, were monsters. “Seems to me that Jimbo has forgotten who he is. Shall we remind him?”

A deafening bang and a consequent scream rang out, many humans and monsters gasping and trembling. Blood gushed from the human’s newly holed flannel shirt that were about quarter sized in width making him look relatively to that of human Swiss Cheese. A disturbing gargling sound emanated from his throat before he collapsed onto his knees and onto the floor, coughing and sputtering. A woman, who seemed to be the man’s wife since they both had the tell-tale signs of a ring on the woman’s finger and the mark of a ring on the man’s own, Sans noticed, raced the few feet over to him. Her hand gripping onto his torn and now maroon colored shirt before the reality and of course the severity of the damage that had been done replaced her initial shock. She then started to weep over the dying human, cradling him to her bosom and rocking his spasming body as though it would cure him of any ailment. Ugly sobs escaped her throat as snot trailed down her upper lip and ending at her chin. Her cheap makeup, given that the mascara having clotted around some of her eyelashes, and her lipstick having already faded discoloring some of her teeth and the corners of her creased mouth. Sans could not really hear the said name of the man through the woman's hysterical cries but right now that was not his real main concern. 

Sans turned his focused attention to the culprits of the robbery, the steaming, sawed pump shotgun that the monster who first spoke revealing that they were the ones who shot the man. They discreetly reloaded their weapon, meaning that their gun only had two shots. The skeleton counted the seconds it took them to reload, discovering that it was three. For the observant skeleton monster, that was very useful information. Whilst he may not know much about guns, he can still make educated guesses based on the user’s behavior. Sans should be panicking, he knew that. Without his magic, he was useless and defenseless. Despite all the odds against him, a soothing calm settled his rattling bones. He would get through this, for the sake of his brothers he would survive. For the first time in a long-time, he was motivated.

Having successfully been persuaded, the humans did as commanded as the monsters cowered into their side of the room, their backs pressing against the wall in a silent wish upon an echo flower that they could faze through the wall and run. "Really?" sighed the silent human of the group, a long-suffering noise revealing just how much shit they had to put up with on account of their accomplices. It was surreal for the skeleton monster, really, for how it reminded him of his antics and his older brother Wingding's reactions to them, something he often reveled in himself given that he was the cause for such "dismay" in his brother. 

"Why did you even call him 'Jimbo'?" inquired the robber with the stylized old gangster gun (Sans briefly recalled at that moment that it was called a "tommy gun", or at least something akin to it). The robber who made the bemused inquiry had already gotten to work shoving all the valuables the humans had on hand into a potato sack, one he noted had the recognizable, tell-tale seal of "Ebott City Corp" burned into the material, as did everything that came from the conglomerate company. Ebott City Corp was a company who took the dogma of "having hands in multiple baskets", their business ranging from supplying food, jewelry procured from the Underground excavation sites, weapons to the military and even the sponsoring of sports events, in particular, the sports of the snow variety (as they were hosted in either Sans' hometown Snowdin or on the very mountain itself that he hailed from given the cold temperature and near-constant snowfall).

The individual who was questioned shrugged nonchalantly, their posture lazy and calm. Clearly, this wasn't their first rodeo, Sans continued to note, given their relaxed demeanor of both them and the robbers as a whole. "He looked like one."

"So, not only did you _not_ have the decency to ask him his name before ordering Minx to shoot him-"

"-I didn't order it, I asked for helping him in remembering who he was which, in my defense, is the right thing to do for an apparent amnesiac-"

"-but you just thought, 'hey, you know what I'll do to this random dude? I'll call him the worst name a mother could call their child'." they continued, unfazed by the interruption as it went ignored. Sans naturally put the name "Minx" to the one with the shotgun, practically searing it into his memory.

"I highly disagree!" they huffed, working their way to the monster side and soon enough collecting what little they had and placing it in the same kind of sack that they used for the humans' possessions. "The worst name by a mile is clearly 'Bob'!"

Even the robber named Minx seemed to take pause with this. "Its symmetrical."

The contentious reply confused Sans, especially given the "end-of-discussion" tone the simple two-word statement exhibited. At that point, they had finally reached Sans. Beads of magical sweat beaded at his brow bone, being at the other end of a gun being rather daunting for him. Well, who wouldn't near-shit themselves when in his situation? Much to Sans' reluctance, he obeyed he silent order and took to not thinking too much on the equally silent threat as he handed over his wallet, which he knew only had enough to buy a corndog and a packet of chisps. The robber nodded almost solemnly in acknowledgement of his offering, not even questioning if he had more when they took it and placed it in the bag. Were they feeling guilty? Sans sure fucking hope so, as for once, he was beginning to give a fucking damn. This newfound motivation increased tenfold when he finally took to looking at his friend Reggie, and how the poor Whimsun seemed only a few seconds away from fainting from the stress. Hell, Sans was even surprised that the poor guy had remained conscious throughout the whole ordeal, the skeleton monster finding himself giving him an internal pat on the back. The thought of the Whimsun's panic made Sans pause in his inner musings.

Why weren't the alarms going off?

For a large and important bank such as the one he was in, Ebbott City Bank was notorious to potential robbers for being impossible to break into given the excessive security measures- well, _near_ -impossible, Sans corrected himself, given that it was evidently achieved as the robbers finished collecting the valuables from the two queues and moved onto the bank workers. Also, where were the security guards? Upon glancing at the entrance, his answer was in the form of burly, armed humans (with the security-approved firearms, of course) sleeping soundly on the floor, swellings on the back of their head evident to the skeleton that they were knocked out via blunt-force. Alas, that revelation still didn't answer the question for how or why the alarms weren't going off and alerting the Ebott City Police Department, or E.C.P.D. Had they hacked into the servers? Sans supposed so, which meant that clearly there were more individuals involved with the robbery than the four who were emptying the bank of all its contents. Moreover, the brief question of how they were fitting everything into the sacks they possessed was the simple answer of a Dimensional Box, or at least the same kind of magic that is used by them.

It didn't take all that long to empty the bank and the pockets of everyone, much to Sans' surprise. Well, if they were skilled enough to disable the top-of-the-range tech that was the bank's security system, it stood to reason that they would be efficient enough to be quick about stealing everything. As quickly as they came, the group left (not without a demonstration of further intimidation by the monster wielding the shotgun, as they took the time to shoot the large crystalline chandelier as it clattered to the ground in an ear-splitting shatter). For the skeleton monster, everything was a blur of white noise, from the police eventually turning up and taking statements, to himself having to give one (which he seemed to do on autopilot). He didn't even take notice when his frazzled and concerned older brother came to pick him up, gently guiding him to their second-hand beat up Ford Fiesta, which was an atrocious shit-brown color, and drove him home. The car ride was silent, the radio broken so there wasn't even background noise: just that of the engine and exhaust as well as the occasional shift of a gear.

The almost tangible silence was broken by Wingdings: a skeleton monster who stood at eight foot and always wore raggedy and frayed knitted jumpers and un-ironed black trousers, his general appearance consisting of two horizontal cracks that were parallel to one another on his face, and his eyelights being a tired grey, contrary to Sans' own snow white ones. "Are you alright?" he questioned softly, his voice deep like a gong in a shrine atop a mountain. As always, Sans found himself somewhat soothed, recognizing the kind of tone his brother was using from when Wingdings read him bedtime stories as a small babybones.

"I really got _robbed_ of joy, huh?" grinned Sans with well-practiced ease, the subsequent sound of an exacerbated sigh forcing his grin to quirk with more genuineness. 

"Please refrain from such infantile jokes, Sans." huffed Wingdings. "This is serious. You just went through a traumatic experience. Having witnessed a murder as well would only exacerbate how you feel."

Sans' expression instinctually hardened, his usual laid-back façade having been swiftly forgotten. "You and I both know that it ain't the first time, bro."

Wingding's own serious and grave expression seemed to further emphasize his unwillingness to let the conversation die out. "You and I _also_ know that fact changes _nothing_ , brother."

Silence between the two brothers once more reigned Sans struggling to fully articulate how he was feeling, given how usually his emotions were dulled to the point of no-longer caring either way, so it was even more difficult for the skeleton to distinguish exactly what he was feeling. All he could figure out was that, _whatever_ he was feeling, he was feeling it _very_ strongly. With that in mind, Sans merely sighed, pinching his nasal cavity as his brow bones furrowed, "I don't know. My HOPE is fine, luckily, though."

"Well, at least there's that." Wingdings sounded extremely relieved, which made Sans' soul twinge with guilt. Even more so, was the fact that they (his brothers and he, that was) as well as every other monster who had been in the bank that day, had been robbed of their Allowance. The skeleton monster doubted that the Mayor of Ebott City would compensate for this, and would most likely prioritize the humans and what _they_ had lost (in a bid to win voters for the oncoming election, Sans suspected)… The innocent monsters who would have to go without a meal for God knows how long, how their valuables that would most likely have sentimental value, like a family ring for example, would most likely never be found again... The humans would continue to live lavishly and their greed be satiated by insurance claims both legitimate and the fraudulent from the incident... Sans would only be able to buy bread and canned soup with the stashed savings he had from his job at the paper factory, and Wingdings wouldn't be paid by the government for his work for at least another week... Upon much thought, Sans finally recognized the emotions that set his soul aflame and mind buzzing.

Sans was motivated by his overwhelming rage, and by God did he _care_.

The radio played quietly in the small kitchen of the run-down apartment, sun beaming through the white net curtains of the grimy window, which cast an almost heavenly glow on the metal appliances and cheap granite surfaces of the counters. All was calm and peaceful as Y/n swayed to the tune that drowned out the rest of the city’s constant noise cheerily, flipping a pancake that was already done cooking on one side. It was like that as of late for the woman: tranquil and all-round refreshing (despite the odd screams in the middle of the night or the sound of a car crash a few blocks away). The young woman could barely remember having a day without feeling some semblance of happiness, even if the stress from her convenience store job was sometimes too difficult to endure.

Those days, she could wake up to the pleasant sight of her girlfriend, Frisk, sleeping comfortably in their shared double bed as Y/n habitually rose at the ass-crack of dawn to have her morning jog, only to come back and make her beloved Frisk’s preferred breakfast: pancakes drizzled in maple syrup, crispy bacon (accurately described by herself as burnt despite Frisk’s protestations to such a heretical claim) and scrambled eggs with tabasco sauce. Indeed, even with Frisk’s questionable tastes in breakfast food and even more questionable tastes in style, Y/n couldn’t think of anything better than seeing the small quirk of Frisk’s lip as the young woman's girlfriend drank a gallon of coffee and ate her breakfast like it was her last meal, and how truly beautiful she was in her frayed overalls that she always wore as a uniform for her checkout job at the gardening shop. Neither Frisk nor herself were paid fairly for their long hours and hard work, but at the end of the day, both were just _so_ happy upon coming home and seeing one another, relieving the residual stress with a choice of tv and pizza, or, if they had enough time, what they simultaneously agreed to call _TLC_.

Briefly thinking back on years past, Y/n’s gaze couldn’t help but idly wander to the mark on her wrist, a frown slowly forming on her face. It was a mark reminiscent of a burn: a brand, as it were, the shape consisting of a slightly misshapen skull. The young woman had often covered it due to her associated shame with the dreaded mark, but after she had one day accidently revealed to having it to Frisk when she clumsily caught her sleeve on the door handle to the very kitchen she was making breakfast in, she found that Frisk merely smiled in understanding, and in a typical Frisk fashion, made a joke about Y/n _clearly_ being an avid Goonies fan (a movie the young woman had no prior experience with until Frisk all but forced her to watch it with her with a pot of cookie dough ice cream). The thought of that memory instantly made Y/n’s frown dissipate, a small grin forming when she thought of the drinking game they had soon after the movie, as well as all the _pleasurable_ activities the pair of them embarked on. Y/n had never known until that very night that she was _very_ fond of scented candle wax.

Per her daily schedule, Frisk rose like the dead at 7:03 am, and trundled to the kitchen as she began to slowly gain awareness from the mouth-watering scent that wafted out of the kitchen door. Blearily, she sat at the countertop, yawning into her hand as a cup of steaming black coffee was affectionately placed in front of her. Frisk thanked Y/n much like a devout follower to their God, reverently holding the cup as though it was the Holy Grail bestowing her immortality. “Morning, sweetness.” greeted Y/n warmly, placing a stack of pancakes in front of the ravenous beast she called her girlfriend, soon enough joining them as they ate.

“Morning.” mumbled Frisk, gratefully accepting the offered maple syrup and drowning her breakfast in the stuff.

“How did you sleep?” questioned Y/n with just as much love as the usual morning greeting, placing a chaste kiss on Frisk’s cheek as the pair continued to eat. Such a simple act as a chaste kiss always flustered Frisk, as she felt her cheeks warm in what Y/n always deemed an attractive blush, young woman in question unable to stop herself from internally cooing at.

Shaking off the feeling, Frisk merely turned her brown eyed gaze to Y/n with her usual deadpan stare. “By closing my eyes.”

Y/n rolled her own, fondness leaking through her poorly constructed look of annoyance. “You know what I mean, smart arse.”

“Yes, I do have a very smart ass. Thank you for noticing, dearest.” snarked Frisk with a playful quirk to her lip. Y/n caught her girlfriend off-guard by promptly smacking said arse, chuckling as Frisk blushed and floundered with her words, evidently failing to form a coherent sentence which only amused the young woman further. Frisk eventually feigned a long-suffering sigh, focusing on her breakfast and blatantly ignoring her girlfriend as Y/n busied about the kitchen, clearly looking for something. Upon finding the sought-after objects, Frisk looked at her lover curiously, which grew even more when she found that Y/n was writing on a postcard that looked to belong to a tourist gift shop from Paris (which was strange as the pair of them had never been there together). Well, whilst herself Frisk had when she was still performing her duties as Ambassador, "The Liberator of Monsterkind" (as she was previously referred to as years ago) distinctly remembered that Y/n had never been there. Frisk's slow, sleepy mind figured that her girlfriend was writing yet _another_ postcard – the fourth of that month, which was more than the usual two to three postcards. The mage remembered how jealous and suspicious she had gotten early in the relationship when she had caught her lover writing a postcard, and much like the angel she was, Y/n graciously allowed her to read it without any underlying judgement. It turned out that Y/n was _not_ in fact cheating on the garden store worker, as the message on the card consisted of a message much like the taunting of kids on a playground playing tag, much to Frisk's confusion. Whilst the strange twinkle of an undeterminable emotion was evident in her girlfriend’s eye, all Frisk was able to discern was that it was just the teasing of two old friends (and whilst it had made Frisk jealous and uncomfortable at such a thought due to her intense desire to get to know her girlfriend, that very evening _certainly_ cleared up any misunderstandings and ill-feelings on the subject – Frisk fought an oncoming blush just thinking about it).

“Who are you writing to this time?” asked Frisk, tone revealing how many times she had asked such a question. The ex-Ambassador never did like to pry too much into Y/n’s personal affairs due to her immense respect for personal boundaries, even if they _were_ together, as she liked to give both her lover and subsequently herself the independence they both desired (which Y/n appreciated immensely given her desire to specifically _not_ talk about the specifics of such things regarding the postcards to her beloved Frisk), which was ultimately why whilst Firsk did ask, she always gave her girlfriend the chance to not talk about it.

“The old acquaintance I usually write to.” replied Y/n, a small smile on her face as she wrote on the postcard with the usual pleasantries and such.

“I’ve always wondered why you write to them if they’re just an acquaintance.”

“Well, that’s nice isn’t it?” grinned Y/n cheekily, putting the postcard in her breast pocket of her neatly ironed black button up shirt. Her shoes were polished as always, and her black slacks too were ironed. It was a big day for the young woman, after all, and she wanted to look sharp for it (even if it was technically a day off for both she and her lover Frisk).

“No need to be sarcastic.” replied Frisk dryly, unable to hide her own amusement. With a sly wink and grin, Y/n kissed Frisk, lingering sensually as she trailed a curled index finger across her cheek, eliciting a barely noticeable shiver.

“So, what do you say to a nice walk on that nature trail we were on about going to at the park? We can pop to the shop, get our usual sandwiches, and have a nice picnic. It’s your first day off in a long while: you deserve to relax, sweetness.” Like a snake Y/n ensnared them, coiling her arms around Frisk in a loving embrace. Her cheeks flushed from the intimate exchange, swallowing the dry lump that emerged in her throat and nodding eagerly in acquiescence. With a coquettish batting of her lashes, Y/n leaned into Frisk’s ear and whispered, “Of course, whilst I go post this, _you_ can go and clean, right?”

Frisk infamously hated cleaning with a passion, but at that moment, the woman couldn’t help but subtly shy away from the contact of Y/n’s lips on her sensitive ear, enjoying the contact almost _too_ much. Face red and breathing uneven, she once again nodded as Y/n’s breathy chuckle sent another pleasurable shiver down her spine. All too soon Y/n relinquished her grip, kissing Frisk before practically skipping out of the kitchen and towards the door out of the dingy (but surprisingly well-maintained) apartment. “Thank you, sweetness!” called Y/n as she made her exit, Frisk finally realizing what Y/n deviously convinced her to do and Y/n heard Frisk say something before closing the door behind herself.

“One day she’ll be the death of me.”

Serenity soothing her soul, Y/n went on her merry way to the post office, near-skipping there from her good mood. She felt as though she was on cloud nine, happy that she could finally spend the day with her workaholic long-term lover. Sure, Y/n admired Frisk's determination, but she knew that even with that strong will of hers, that she needed a break. The more Y/n wistfully continued that train of thought, she realized that she too needed the break. It was hard work to be on the run, even for her, someone notoriously skilled in the art. It was due to that, as well as a long-standing agreement that when she saw an all too familiar figure, she rationalized that it was merely the heat haze from the summer sun. In theory, Y/n’s numerous (and on the precipice of being called paranoid) precautions to avoid such a scenario would have made the discovery of her location impossible. Perhaps it was an undigested bit of beef, a blot of mustard, a crumb of cheese, a fragment of an underdone potato. She felt a manic giggle bubble up, entirely glad that she still remembered Frisk’s favorite Christmas movie off-by-heart.

Amidst her panicked thoughts, she didn’t notice that the mirage was approaching her until the very individual that she had hoped to never have to deal with again was five feet in front of her. The glint of familiar diamond in their teeth blinded her briefly from the sunlight reflecting off of it, and their stoic face seemed to twitch in a restrained smile. “Hello again, Y/n. Long-time no-see.”

Why was _she_ there? They had all fucking _agreed_ that they would only meet up if they agreed by majority vote, or if there was something _very_ wrong, so that immediately begged the question for _why_ she was there, given how crystal-clear Y/n made the fact that she was retired and didn’t want to get involved in that line of work again. Did the rest of them know, or was it just _this_ shithead? All she knew, at that very moment, her nerves were shot to hell and her previous hopeful mood plummeted to an abyss of dread. She was no longer the Risk-it-for-a-Biscuit kid she once was, no longer as reckless and victim of desire. The young thief had a life, a life with a gorgeous partner and a blindly bright future ahead of her. Even if they had financial struggles that were sometimes unavoidable, she was alright with that because she knew that Frisk and she would stick by one another through thick and thin, and with the woman and potentially the others on top of that turning up, too?

She had _everything_ to lose.

Whilst she was worried about her own threatened freedom, was more worried about what such a fate would indirectly cause harm to a certain little mage who had played the thief by her own game and stole her heart and soul. Not only that, but it seemed that the spitfire that was Frisk had rubbed off on her as newfound determination flowed through her veins- as the saying went, “you live with them, you get like them”. She _refused_ to not escape with her girlfriend, and to finally ask them the question that had been plaguing her mind for the last six months: will you –?

“So, what do you want me to do?” questioned Y/n, glum with how she had allowed herself to be convinced by that woman (well, Y/n supposed she was her Boss from then on). Four unfamiliar faces were in the car with her, as they too seemed to have also been bribed by their Boss (although, Y/n could just be projecting).

“Obviously we want you to do what you do best, seen as though it is your _'area of expertise'_.” smirked one of the monsters, teeth sharp and grin menacing as they loaded their shotgun. The monster’s arrogance and snide comment annoyed Y/n greatly, making her glare heatedly at the female monster. They all began donning what their boss specifically requested, taking extra care that the masks wouldn’t slide of their faces or that they forgot the sacks that were, according to Boss, “ _essential_ ” to her plan. Y/n never had understood that woman’s reasoning or why she did things the way she did: all she knew, was that her Boss was a woman of great intelligence, and that everything she planned was always a long-run game to which she always played masterfully, and behind every meticulously thought out action, there was always a reason behind it (which often made her all the more scary at time to the young woman, she must confess).

“I was speaking to the _Boss_.” hissed Y/n venomously, eyes narrowing in disdain. Over the phone (which was on speaker), the Boss finally replied in her usual frosty, calculated tone.

“Why, be the getaway driver, of course.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heya peeps!
> 
> Just wanted to thank u all for reading and we hope you all have a great day!


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